Friday, May 16th.
On board the good ship _Camperdown_,
500 miles North-west of Table-Bay.
I EMBARKED this day week, and found a good airy cabin, and all very
comfortable. Next day I got the carpenter’s services, by being on board
before all the rest, and relashed and cleeted everything, which the
‘Timmerman’, of course, had left so as to get adrift the first breeze.
At two o’clock the Attorney-General, Mr. Porter, came on board, escorted
by bands of music and all the volunteers of Capetown, _quorum pars maxima
fuit_; i.e. Colonel. It was quite what the Yankees call an ‘ovation’.
The ship was all decked with flags, and altogether there was _le diable à
quatre_. The consequence was, that three signals went adrift in the
scuffle; and when a Frenchman signalled us, we had to pass for _brutaux
Anglais_, because we could not reply. I found means to supply the
deficiency by the lining of that very ancient anonymous cloak, which did
the red, while a bandanna handkerchief of the Captain’s furnished the
yellow, to the sailmaker’s immense amusement. On him I bestowed the blue
outside of the cloak for a pair of dungaree trowsers, and in signalling
now it is, ‘up go 2.41, and my lady’s cloak, which is 7.’
We have had lovely weather, and on Sunday such a glorious farewell sight
of Table Mountain and my dear old Hottentot Hills, and of Kaap Goed Hoop
itself. There was little enough wind till yesterday, when a fair
southerly breeze sprang up, and we are rolling along merrily; and the fat
old _Camperdown does_ roll like an honest old ‘wholesome’ tub as she is.
It is quite a _bonne fortune_ for me to have been forced to wait for her,
for we have had a wonderful spell of fine weather, and the ship is the
_ne plus ultra_ of comfort. We are only twelve first-class upper-deck
passengers. The captain is a delightful fellow, with a very charming
young wife. There is only one child (a great comfort), a capital cook,
and universal civility and quietness. It is like a private house
compared to a railway hotel. Six of the passengers are invalids, more or
less. Mr. Porter, over-worked, going home for health to Ireland; two
men, both with delicate chests, and one poor young fellow from Capetown
in a consumption, who, I fear, will not outlive the voyage. The doctor
is very civil, and very kind to the sick; but I stick to the cook, and am
quite greedy over the good fare, after the atrocious food of the Cape.
Said cook is a Portuguese, a distinguished artist, and a great
bird-fancier. One can wander all over the ship here, instead of being a
prisoner on the poop; and I even have paid my footing on the forecastle.
S— clambers up like a lively youngster. You may fancy what the weather
is, that I have only closed my cabin-window once during half of a very
damp night; but no one else is so airy. The little goat was as rejoiced
to be afloat again as her mistress, and is a regular pet on board, with
the run of the quarter-deck. She still gives milk—a perfect Amalthæa.
The butcher, who has the care of her, cockers her up with dainties, and
she begs biscuit of the cook. I pay nothing for her fare. M—’s
tortoises are in my cabin, and seem very happy. Poor Mr. Porter is very
sick, and so are the two or three coloured passengers, who won’t ‘make an
effort’ at all. Mrs. H— (the captain’s wife), a young Cape lady, and I
are the only ‘female ladies’ of the party. The other day we saw a shoal
of porpoises, amounting to many hundreds, if not some thousands, who came
frisking round the ship. When we first saw them they looked like a line
of breakers; they made such a splash, and they jumped right out of the
water three feet in height, and ten or twelve in distance, glittering
green and bronze in the sun. Such a pretty, merry set of fellows!
We shall touch at St. Helena, where I shall leave this letter to go by
the mail steamer, that you may know a few weeks before I arrive how
comfortably my voyage has begun.
We see no Cape pigeons; they only visit outward ships—is not that
strange?—but, _en revanche_, many more albatrosses than in coming; and we
also enjoy the advantage of seeing all the homeward-bound ships, as they
all _pass_ us—a humiliating fact. The captain laughed heartily because I
said, ‘Oh, all right; I shall have the more sea for my money’,—when the
prospect of a slow voyage was discussed. It is very provoking to be so
much longer separated from you all than I had hoped, but I really believe
that the bad air and discomfort of the other ships would have done me
serious injury; while here I have every chance of benefiting to the
utmost, and having mild weather the whole way, besides the utmost amount
of comfort possible on board ship. There are some cockroaches, indeed,
but that is the only drawback. The _Camperdown_ is fourteen years old,
and was the crack ship to India in her day. Now she takes cargo and
poop-passengers only, and, of course, only gets invalids and people who
care more for comfort than speed.
_Monday Evening_, May 26_th_.—Here we are, working away still to reach
St. Helena. We got the tail of a terrific gale and a tremendous sea all
night in our teeth, which broke up the south-east trades for a week. Now
it is all smooth and fair, with a light breeze again right aft; the old
trade again. Yesterday a large shark paid us a visit, with his suite of
three pretty little pilot-fish, striped like zebras, who swam just over
his back. He tried on a sailor’s cap which fell overboard, tossed it
away contemptuously, snuffed at the fat pork with which a hook was
baited, and would none of it, and finally ate the fresh sheep-skin which
the butcher had in tow to clean it, previous to putting it away as a
perquisite. It is a beautiful fish in shape and very graceful in motion.
To-day a barque from Algoa Bay came close to us, and talked with the
speaking trumpet. She was a pretty, clipper-built, sharp-looking craft,
but had made a slower run even than ourselves. I dare say we shall have
her company for a long time, as she is bound for St. Helena and London.
My poor goat died suddenly the other day, to the general grief of the
ship; also one of the tortoises. The poor consumptive lad is wonderfully
better. But all the passengers were very sick during the rough weather,
except S— and I, who are quite old salts. Last week we saw a young
whale, a baby, about thirty feet long, and had a good view of him as he
played round the ship. We shall probably be at St. Helena on Wednesday,
but I cannot write from thence, as, if there is time, I shall get a run
on shore while the ship takes in water. But this letter will tell you of
my well-being so far, and in about six weeks after the date of it I hope
to be with you. I hope you won’t expect too much in the way of
improvement in my health. I look forward, oh, so eagerly, to be with you
again, and with my brats, big and little. God bless you all.
Yours ever,
L. D. G.
_Wednesday_, 28_th_.—Early morning, off St. Helena, James Town.
Such a lovely _unreal_ view of the bold rocks and baby-house forts on
them! Ship close in. Washer-woman come on board, and all hurry.
_Au revoir_.